The Sorrows of Young Castiel
by TomiSama04
Summary: "You don't need to be such a predictable jock," Castiel hissed, standing up and glaring at Dean. "You don't think I understand how this game is played by now? A kid paid me twenty dollars once to write an essay for him. I don't need you trying to sweeten me up then threaten me to know exactly where I stand in the grand scheme of things." (Destiel, College!AU)


"The Sorrows of Young Castiel"

**Pairing:** Destiel (DeanxCastiel)  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Warnings:** Mentions of suicide, off-screen suicide in the past of a character already dead in canon, language.  
**Word Count:**6758  
**My Tumblr:** talesfromperdition

**Author's Note:** If you care, many things in this are true. All of the classes (and books read in those classes), are classes I took in my first and second year of college. I also had an attractive man as a partner in my Epic and Romance; however, it did not turn out like this, unfortunately. Also, it is named for the novel in the story, not because it's actually all that sad for Castiel.

* * *

Castiel had midterms to study for and an interview to be an RA next week. He didn't need to be wasting his time at this shitty party. The only reason he was even at the stupid thing was because his second-semester roommate, a communications and psychology double major named Balthazar, knew a guy who knew the guy throwing the party. It was at the baseball house – Castiel's school had very few fraternities and as such, the sports teams were the ones who partied all the time – and while the baseball house wasn't as crazy as the hockey or rugby house, it was still rowdy.

It was certainly louder than Castiel's dorm room would have been with Balthazar gone. True, Balthazar was a better roommate than the total neanderthal he had last semester, but Castiel worked better in silence. He needed a room by himself, and being caught at a party would jeopardize his chances of becoming an RA. True, it would be added work and added stress, but he really needed his own room to study in. He would leave the party and walk back, but he hadn't really left campus that much since he arrived in the fall and he wasn't sure he could find his way back by himself.

Instead, he sat in the living room, red solo cup three-quarters full with beer from the keg that Balthazar had poured him before abandoning him to scope out chicks. Castiel kept his back to the corner, watching as the older members of the baseball team played beer pong on the table. The younger ones were chasing tail, just like Balthazar was, but Castiel had no time for needless distractions.

He just wished he could find his way home. It was only eleven, and the library was open until one in the morning. He could get started on the midterm project he had been assigned in his Epic and Romance class. Along with a partner, he had to give a presentation in which he had to discuss the novel _The Sorrows of Young Werther _in regard to a quote by the author, Goethe: _"Suicide is an event of human nature which, whatever may be said and done with respect to it, demands the sympathy of every man, and in every epoch must be discussed anew."_

They had just started reading the novel last week, but Castiel had finished it yesterday. It was certainly powerful, if not foolish. Long story short, it was a novel written during the sturm und drang period in which a young man named Werther falls in love with a girl betrothed to another married named Lotte. Unable to see a way out of the love-triangle with all of them alive, Werther kills himself. It was anticlimactic, in Castiel's opinion, and he found love stories – especially ones that ended in suicides – tedious. He doubted anyone could be so in love with another person that if that person were to get married, suicide was the only option.

A boy who lived around the corner from Castiel growing up had shot himself when he found out his girlfriend was cheating on him. While the man could certainly understand the appeal of suicide, he couldn't fathom it in regards to unrequited or lost love.

He knew this was going to be a difficult project, and he needed to start researching it soon to insure perfection.

Castiel was already trying to compose a checklist in his head of scenes prior to Werther's suicide where he waxed poetically about it or contemplated it. He was trying to activate his _suicide_ schema to pour forth his prior knowledge of it and how it – and the text – related to the quote, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He hadn't even noticed anyone approached him; he hadn't felt anyone invade his personal space.

"Hey Cas," the man said, grin pasted on his face. It was a kid on the baseball team – Castiel could tell by the jersey – and the man was already drunk. That, Castiel could tell by the eyes. They were green, but fogged over and droopy. He smelled like a liquor cabinet, and whatever was in his solo cup wasn't from the cheap keg. "You're a fan of baseball?"

"Not hardly," Castiel said, trying to shrug the man's hand off of his shoulder. When the man wouldn't move out of his space, Castiel put his red solo cup on the stand next to him and stood. The baseball player was taller than the dark-haired man, but he was slumped slightly with the alcohol. He kept his hand on Castiel's shoulder until the shorter man brushed it away with his hand. The baseball player tottered for a moment, like he couldn't stand up on his own, before he regained his balance and smiled at Castiel as if remaining upright was something praiseworthy. "How do you know my name?"

"Aw," the man said, leaning forward. He smelled toxic; luckily there was no open flame nearby. "Cas, I'm hurt. I've only sat behind you in Epic and Romance all semester. Plus, we had Drama and Film together _last _semester. And you lived in my suite before you moved."

"That's so interesting," Castiel frowned, trying to move back, but he was caught between the drunk man and the chair in the corner and had nowhere to go. He pushed passed the man, aiming for the front door. Once he stepped out into the cool, spring air, he felt like he could breathe again.

Unfortunately, the screen door to the baseball house slammed behind him. The man had the decency to throw Castiel a mock-wince at the sound as if it was an accident. Castiel sighed and walked to the sidewalk. He wasn't sure whether to go left or right to get back to the dorms. The next street down to the left had more street lights and people. He couldn't see the next street to the right; there was a limited number of streetlights, there were no people, and it looked like a street where unsuspecting college coeds were picked up only to be found dead later.

Castiel took a step to the left – better to go where the people and lights were – and he heard the man call out his name once again. Well, briefly. Then the man was just yelling. Castiel turned around in time to see him crashing down the two steps off the porch and onto the sidewalk.

The shorter boy winced and the pressure put on the man's wrists as he caught himself on the cement. After a moment of laying there on his stomach, the man pushed himself up to sit on his knees and heels and turned his hands to examine his palms.

Both of them were scraped and bloody. Castiel grimaced and asked, "Are you okay?"

"My wrists… um, they hurt at first but now my hands just sting a little bit." The man stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. It would be sore and irritated in the morning, Castiel knew, but it also wasn't his problem. He turned toward the left and started walking, when the man called out once again, "Hey, Cas! Where are you going?"

"Please don't shorten my name. I don't like it," he called back over his shoulders. "And leave me alone."

"You're going to the bars?" the man called again. Castiel stopped walking. He didn't really want to go toward more intoxicated idiots. "They start checking IDs about now so unless you have a fake, you're never getting in."

Castiel turned around to look at the man. Even though he claimed it didn't hurt, he was keeping his wrists close to his stomach, babying them. It wasn't good, Castiel knew, because he had fallen twice when he was younger bad enough to break his each of his wrists. He had babied the left one for three days before his parents finally took him to the doctor. Come to find out it had been broken the whole time, and rather badly.

The man offered Castiel a weak smile, and he looked as if his injury sobered him a bit. "Dorms are the other way."

"I know where the dorms are," Castiel spat. "I just didn't want to walk in the dark."

"This is a crazy safe college town," the man said. "Mostly noise complaints, alcohol poisoning, drunk and disorderlies, and public urination."

"Is that what typically shows up in the blotter or is that your own personal record?" Castiel asked, crossing his arms over his chest to shelter his body from the cold breeze.

The man tilted his head back and laughed, full and deep from his belly, and Castiel gave a weak smile at the sight of it. It wasn't that funny. After the man calmed down again, he nodded his head toward the dark path and said, "I'm going back there anyway. We can walk together."

Castiel wanted to ask how he knew he could trust the man to take him back to the dorms and not murder him and toss his body in the shallow river where the potheads lit fires on the warmer nights. He looked the baseball player over – took in his injured hands, his probable blood-alcohol level, and the muscles visible under the thin jersey – and he decided that he could outrun him. He had run cross country all through high school, and he still jogged every morning. If he could get away, he had the stamina to long outpace the man.

If he could get away.

"You're my partner on the Goethe project?" Castiel asked.

The man nodded, "Yeah, the suicide thing. And I sat freaking two seats away from you in Drama and Film _and_ you used to live right across the hall from me. We're practically best friends."

Castiel scoffed, but he walked down the dark part of the street with the man, and let him walk him past the river (where there were a number of fires and high kids along the banks, so he didn't need to worry about his body ending up in there and not being discovered, at least) and listened as the man chatted along mostly to himself. He talked first about how they knew each other – he complimented Castiel on his presentations on _Tartuffe_ by Molière and _Angels in America_ – and Castiel couldn't believe the man really remembered his closing points so well. Once Castiel relaxed enough not to suspect the man of his murder, he started talking about his younger brother, Sam, and their uncle.

It wasn't until the man was sliding his card to unlock the front door of their dorm building that Castiel realized that despite being able to place his face, he couldn't recall the man's name. The man turned to walk left – toward 311, Castiel's old suite – when, for the first time, he called out to the man. "What's your name?"

The green eyes looked far more sober after the half an hour walk back to campus, and his freckles danced over his nose as he pulled a disgusted face. "You don't even remember my name?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel admitted.

The man just smiled. "Dean Winchester. I'll see you around, Castiel."

"Um… actually. Cas is fine," he said, although he had never said those words to anyone else before. Even his siblings called him by all three syllables. Nobody had ever tried to shorten it, to make it friendly in their mouth before. But he could remember it on this man, Dean's, tongue. He had addressed him as a friend – he had called him his _best friend_ – even though it had been in jest.

The way Dean's face lit up at the words, Castiel thought he might say them over and over again. "Alright then. Good night, Cas. I'll see you tomorrow."

Castiel watched the baseball player turn and walk away. He didn't look back as he entered the stairwell, and Castiel waited another twenty seconds before he walked in the opposite direction to 301. He locked the door, hoping that if Balthazar couldn't get laid tonight, he would at least have his keys.

* * *

Castiel woke up at eight, and Balthazar wasn't in his bed. He went for his usual morning jog, took a shower, and ate breakfast. It wasn't until he was heading out the door to go do some research at the library that Balthazar showed up. After his roommate gave a lengthy and lewd description of his night, Castiel managed to escape.

He set his MacBook up in one of the cement cubby desks in the back near the window. The cement was freezing, and he usually liked to go to the cushy tower lounge on the fourth floor. However, one of the few sororities had booked it for a midterm study session, so here he was sitting in a freezing I.M. Pei abomination. The one positive thing to the cement walls of the cubbies was that it was private and he was almost never disturbed, especially if he put his headphones in so he couldn't hear it when someone's phone eventually rang.

He threw his backpack down on the beanbag chair on the other side of the cubby, got out his laptop, and got working.

Several hours later, he had filled out his answers to anticipated questions for his RA interview, created a study guide for his sociology midterm, and searched JStor for articles on Goethe, sturm und drang, and Werther's suicidal thoughts throughout the novel. As anticipated, Castiel could find plenty of quotes in the text to relate back to the quote, but he was having a hard time committing to the assignment. He understood what Goethe was saying with the quote – about how those who commit suicide deserve respect and how every generation has to have a discussion about suicide – but he also read about how influential the text was.

After _The Sorrows of Young Werther_ came out, Goethe became an overnight success. People in the streets started dressing like Werther, and young lovers started copying Werther's example and killed themselves. It was the _Catcher in the Rye_ of the 1770s, and Goethe hated the book by the end of his life and acknowledged that it had a profound personal and emotional impact on the poor youths who read it.

Castiel didn't care for it much himself – but he didn't care for _Catcher in the Rye_, either – and while he understood the phenomena of copycat suicides, he couldn't imagine the foolish souls who thought they loved someone so much they couldn't live their life without them.

For the second time in two days, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Castiel ripped out his earbud and turned around, frowning up at Dean Winchester's smiling face once again.

"Hey, partner. How goes the research?"

"Fine," Castiel admitted. He felt his forehead creasing in frustration as he watched Dean move his backpack off the beanbag and flop down into Castiel's workspace as if he had been invited. He opened up his copy of _The Sorrows of Young Werther_ and thumbed through it to find one of the many dog-eared pages. "What are you doing here?"

Dean looked up at him like Castiel was a moron. "Working on our project, I thought. What are you doing here?"

"We didn't agree to meet," Castiel said. It came out more of a snap than he intended. He didn't enjoy surprises; they made him uncomfortable and he grew angry very easily when he was outside of his comfort zone. "How did you find me?"

"I asked Balthazar," Dean shrugged. "When the girls were in the tower lounge, I looked here."

"How…" Castiel wasn't sure what to even question: how did Dean know Balthazar, how did he know to look in the tower lounge first, or how he knew to look in the cubbies after. "I mean, how…"

"I told you, Cas. We're practically best friends."

"No we aren't, Dean," Castiel said, hitting his hand against the table. Dean raised his eyebrows like he was amused at the shorter boy's outburst. "I don't know anything about you."

"Alright," Dean sat the book down, open, against his stomach and leaned back in the beanbag chair. He brought his hands behind his head, and for the first time, Castiel noticed the bandages covering both palms. He had an ace bandage covering his right wrist. "What do you want to know?"

"Do they hurt?" Castiel asked.

Dean shrugged. "More than last night. Benny – my roommate, you remember him? – cleaned me up a bit when I got home. Good thing I had you protecting me or else someone could have taken advantage in my drunken state." He grinned, a cocky thing that was so much different from the little smiles he was shooting Castiel the night before. "Coach is going to be pissed about my wrist though. I can hardly move it."

"Is it broken, do you think?"

"Nah," Dean said. "Maybe sprained, but I doubt even that. Plus, it's not like I play or anything. I'm here on scholarship, but I'm still a freshman."

"A baseball scholarship," Castiel said, rolling his eyes back to his laptop. He could almost feel Dean frowning at the back of his head. "So why are you even here? Why not just let me do the whole thing?"

"What?"

"You heard me. If you're only here to make sure I'll write your name on the top, I assure you that I can do this much faster without you bothering me," Castiel shrugged. "It's not the first time I've done a presentation by myself. Last night you seemed to remember my Tartuffe presentation…"

"Yeah, but… I'm not going to let you do it alone like that jerkoff did," Dean said. Castiel recognized the offense in his voice and turned around. The baseball player looked… genuine. Like he recognized that his last partner hadn't been any help and that he was determined not to be that guy.

Castiel frowned. "Why not? It would be faster on my part."

"I don't care," Dean snapped. "We're partners and we have to fill out an evaluation on each other. You don't think our professor will penalize you for being a control freak the same way she'll dock me points for being a deadbeat?"

"Fine," Castiel snipped back, then turned around to look over his notes on his sources once again. Dean was quiet, and Castiel stopped angrily pretending to read to actual reading. He hated the unrequited love thing, he especially hated how it ended in suicide, and his irrational anger at Dean made him hate the stupid book even more. He was just about to insist that Dean leave so he could work on something else when the man spoke up again.

"_However confined he may be…"_ Dean read. _"Still holds forever in his heart the sweet feeling of freedom, and knows that he can leave this prison whenever he likes."_

Castiel was quiet for a long minute, trying to place the tone in Dean's voice as he read. It was heavy, he noticed. Sad. Castiel didn't dare face him as he asked, "So what?"

"So, it's no wonder Werther committed suicide. You could tell from the first line."

"No, you can't," Castiel scoffed, picking up his own copy of the book and flipping to the first page. _"How glad I am to have come away!_ He's talking about leaving where he was to go to Wahlheim."

"But knowing it ends in suicide, as I'm sure Goethe did, it changes the meaning of the first line for me. It doesn't for you?" Dean asked, looking down into his book.

Castiel watched as Dean's eyes darted over the page as he scanned the first letter from Werther to Wilhelm. Dean Winchester, Castiel realized, was remarkably handsome. It wasn't something he noticed often about people, as he rarely paid attention to his classmates or those he passed in the hall. But his face was symmetrical, other than the freckles, and his lips were full. Even recognizing the attractiveness of another person, he had very few experiences with the way his body reacted to the new knowledge. He could almost feel his heart speeding up, just looking at Dean. And the taller boy, he remembered Castiel. Could this mean he… could he have these same feelings?

Castiel had never thought of anyone with romantic interest before, but when the taller boy looked up from his spot on the beanbag chair, Castiel licked his lips and looked away.

"It doesn't do anything for you, does it?" Dean asked.

"What… um… what did you think of the text?" Castiel asked, his head suddenly swimming with confusing and distracting thoughts.

"It was…" Dean looked back at the book. "It was difficult for me to read. Um… I just… suicide. It's a heavy topic, you know?"

Castiel recognized the tone. One of Castiel's father's friends had killed himself when Castiel was still a child. The boy who lived down the road had been a year older than him. Castiel came from a small town, but he had seen his fair share of tragedy. "It is difficult."

"I wish I'd gotten to do mine on the Odyssey, to be honest. I mean, it's awesome you're my partner, cause I know I won't be stuck doing the whole thing either, but… the Odyssey would be easier for me. Damn, _Memed, my Hawk_ would have been easier for me. This would be my last choice…" Dean ran his fingers through his hair, careful not to touch his injured palms to his head.

"It hasn't been easy for me, either. I disagree with the viewpoint character, so it is hard for me to complete the assignment."

"What do you mean you disagree with Werther?" Dean asked, frowning.

"I mean, I understand suicide. I… what teenager, at some point, had felt despair and feel just like Werther: that life is a prison and it can be escaped with a gun. I have failed at things before and I… what I mean to say is, I understand suicide. I understand the appeal. But I can't understand it in relation to love."

"In relation to love?"

"Yes, I don't understand how someone could kill themselves because unrequited love. I can't imagine that love could truly be that powerful, that someone would rather die than be without another person. I can't understand that. It seems silly to me."

"Silly?" Dean asked, mouth agape. For a moment, he looked angry, then sad, then his emotions were schooled into something more neutral. "It's not cool that the story ended with suicide. Werther became an icon, you know. Young lovers killed themselves when they were scorned or whatever after they read this and that is not cool. Suicide is not cool. But… but I can understand. You've never… loved like that before? You've never been hurt by someone else like that before? People can love that ferociously. They can waste away from lost love, and sometimes, people feel that they can't go on. Suicide isn't ever an answer but at least… It sucks, but I could forgive him for it, you know? He shouldn't have killed himself, but he was in pain and now he's gone. I can't be mad at him for leaving forever, can I?"

"You're not talking about Werther, are you? He's fictional, Dean."

"Yes, Cas. I know. I'm just… I… it's nothing, alright. Never mind. Let's just do the project, alright?"

"Something happened," Castiel said, looking down at Dean once again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not… No, I mean… nothing like that happened, I was just supposing. You know, the text. Um, actually…" Dean looked out of the cubby, eyes searching desperately. Eventually he stood and waved across the library. "Hey, Jo!" Castiel couldn't see Jo's reaction, he didn't know who Jo was, but one of those cocky lady-killer smiles burst onto his face and Dean hurried to pick up his book and throw his backpack over his shoulder. "Sorry, Cas, but I think I think I have a date."

"Oh," Castiel stated, frowning. "Jo is your… girlfriend?"

"Nah," Dean said, turning to Castiel and throwing the buffed up, fake charm at him instead. It twisted his handsome features, Castiel decided. He didn't like the look, and he didn't like how it made him feel. "Girlfriend is too… serious. She's just… you know how things are in college, Cas. Can't have one girl claiming me all to herself, now, can I?"

Castiel felt his jaw shift, his eyebrows lowered, and he turned back to his Dean. "If you say so. Enjoy your date." He felt new things swarming inside of him, and rage bubbled in his stomach like an acid. Of course Dean would have plenty of girlfriends. Bullies had played this game with Castiel most of his life – preying on his weaknesses and insecurities – to make sure they got what they wanted out of him.

Dean had just played the game differently. It stung more, maybe more than the cuts on Dean's hands.

"I'm uh… I'll see you later, Cas?"

He was bitter, and it was little of him, but Castiel, for a moment there, had hoped. And maybe Dean had a point about young lovers being scored. "I'm sure you'll just encroach on my personal time again whenever you feel like hunting me all over campus again. So no need to plan on meeting again, right?" Castiel heard Dean scowl and knew he was opening his mouth to speak, so Castiel beat him to it. "And don't worry, Dean. I won't tell her that you're a deadbeat if you leave out the part about me being a _control freak_."

"Christ, Castiel. You don't have to be such an asshole all the time. I just… I can't right now, okay?"

"And you don't need to be such a predictable jock," Castiel hissed, standing up and glaring at Dean. "You don't think I understand how this game is played by now? A kid paid me twenty dollars once to write an essay for him. I don't need you trying to sweeten me up then threaten me to know exactly where I stand in the grand scheme of things."

"That isn't what… you think that I'm trying to…"

"Please leave me alone, Dean. I won't ask you again." Castiel sat back down, exiting out of tabs and saving his word documents. Even if Dean left, he was done here. This space was tainted for him now. He threw his laptop and books into his bag and stood up.

His heart was pumping furiously in his chest. Dean had pretended to be interested in him – he had used his memory to make Castiel feel important – and even though Castiel hadn't even given it any serious thought to the possibility that he could be important to Dean other than as a means to getting a good grade, he couldn't help but feel used.

"Cas, wait. This is just… I think that you're…"

But Castiel was storming away. Hopefully, Balthazar would want to go out again tonight. This time, Castiel would insist on staying in his room alone.

* * *

Her name had been Anna, and Castiel was sure he was in love with her. He had thought about marrying her, what they could name their kids, and he imagined a life where he was an English professor and Anna was a secretary at a lawyer's firm – her aspiration at fourteen – and they were happy.

He knew Anna from before, but when she became his lab partner in Living Environment, he realized his crush could turn into an actuality. She smiled at him, she passed him notes where she dotted the _i_ in his name with a heart, and she held his hand under the table occasionally.

He thought they were dating, so he asked her to go to the Winter Semi-Formal with him. She smiled, sweet as ever, and told him she already had a date but if she had known he had wanted to go, she wouldn't have made plans. She couldn't break them now.

So he asked her out for Valentine's Day. He got the same response.

It wasn't until May that he realized her eyes strayed to his test, that he had done every single lab report and put both their names on it, and that she never took notes for herself. He had given her that _A_ practically gift wrapped. All she needed to do to buy it was pay him a bit of attention.

Castiel swore never again.

He would do every project to get a good grade for himself and he didn't care if anyone mooched. But he would never be suckered into anything again, not with soft smiles and a little bit of attention.

And Castiel typed furiously. He wrote a script and printed out two copies. He highlighted what Dean would need to read. He typed up a glowing review of Dean and how they had split the work fairly, just as he always did, even when it wasn't true.

He couldn't believe he'd let it happen again, and Dean hadn't done half of what Anna had. In less than twenty-four hours, all he had done was get drunk and have a decent memory of last semester. He smiled, and he was attractive.

Castiel had never felt so stupid in all his life.

Dean hadn't done anything to lead Castiel on – he hadn't made a pass or even pretended to be interested in him – but Castiel still felt betrayed.

And it made him feel stupid. Nobody betrayed Castiel but his own body.

The day of their presentation, Castiel handed back the script to Dean, and he wanted to apologize. He had kind of exploded on Dean that day for no real reason. Logically, in hind sight, he knew that.

He had no idea why his body felt differently.

Dean took the script, and they walked to the front of the classroom together. Castiel read about the sturm and drang movement and about Werther's thoughts and feelings of suicide verse Goethe's description of the act and the effects.

Then it was Dean's turn. He was leaning against the blackboard, looking defeated. His wrist was still bandaged, and Castiel knew enough about scholarships to know that an injury could negate the terms. He could be stuck with a huge bill, and even though he didn't push Dean down the stairs, he did fall chasing him. He felt a little big guilty.

Dean's eyes skimmed over his first sentence then ran his fingers through his hair. Then he looked up at the classroom. Most of their peers weren't paying much attention until Dean said, "I really hated this book. It made me cry."

The room was silent except for Castiel when he whispered, "What are you doing? Just read the paper."

"I was four when my mom died in a house fire," he crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his back harder against the blackboard as if he were trying to escape. "My brother was six months old, and my dad… he never really got better after that. He turned to alcohol for a while, and right before CPS took us away for neglect when I was ten, he killed himself. We've lived with my Uncle Bobby since."

The room was still silent, and Dean had everyone's attention. "Dean," Castiel said as he reached out, letting his hand rest on the taller man's shoulder. Dean didn't shrug him away.

"As Cas just mentioned, the entire way through the novel, Werther said it was simple to die. The only thing that stood between him and the freedom from the prison that was his life was a gun; however, Goethe showed us Lotte and Albert's tortured attitude toward Werther just before and just after his death, he is telling us that it the character is wrong. Taking one's life isn't a simple or natural act at all, and it leaves people behind… it _hurts_ the people left behind. So when Goethe said, _'Suicide is an event of human nature which, whatever may be said and done with respect to it, demands the sympathy of every man, and in every epoch must be discussed anew,'_ he meant that it happened then and it happens now. But just because we talked about it then, we still need to talk about it now. We need to sympathize and we need to discuss it. And that is what we'd like to do now… just… talk about it."

Their presentation only had to be ten minutes, but after Dean shared, another boy told a story about his friend from high school who had hanged himself in an apple orchard and how hard reading _The Sorrows of Young Werther_ had been for him. The story was echoed – nearly everyone in the classroom had known at least one person who had committed suicide or known someone who tried or had tried to themselves – but despite this, nobody ever talked about it.

Nobody talks about suicide, and that was the exact warning that Goethe was trying to give.

When the professor took control over the class once again at the end of eighty minutes, she wiped her eyes. And as the rest of the students left the class, a handful of them thanked Dean. One or two even thanked Castiel, even though he had nothing to do with it.

Finally, the two of them were the only ones left packing up their notes as slowly as they could, trying to delay the talk they both had waited in the back of the classroom to have.

For once, it was Castiel approaching Dean first.

"That was why you wanted to leave with Jo?" Castiel asked, and Dean nodded. "I… I thought you… It seems so stupid now. It seemed stupid then."

"What?" Dean asked, and Castiel felt his face burning. "You thought I was just checking up on you to make sure you would do the work and not rat me out?"

"Yes," Castiel looked away. "It wasn't the first time an attractive person used me to better their own grades."

"Attractive," Dean said, and Castiel could hear something in the tone in his voice. When he snapped his eyes back to Dean's and shook his head, trying to take it back, the taller man was grinning. "You think I'm attractive. You thought I was going to try and seduce you into getting me good grades?"

"It… crossed my mind. It happened before."

"Well, I have news for you, buddy. My scholarship is for baseball, but because I'm a scholar athlete, not just a good ball player. Although I am… a good ball player, I mean," Dean said, grin still on his face.

"Are you… I'm sorry – is that a flirtation?"

"I thought you were a smart guy, Cas," Dean said, reaching out to put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. It was the third time he had done it, but this time, his hand moved up to the back of Castiel's neck, and if he was burning before, he was going to actually combust in a second. "What I'm saying is that if I seduce you, it's not because I need good grades. I've got those all on my own."

"Then… then why would you want seduce me?" Castiel asked, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

Dean moved closer, until they were sharing air before he looked from Castiel's lips to his eyes, and Castiel gulped as Dean's eyes flickered with surprise. "You really have no idea how hot you are, do you? Christ, the first time I saw you in those tight-ass running shorts last semester I nearly came in my pants."

"You… You said you didn't want a girl claiming you all for herself, so you…you want to make me a conquest?" Castiel asked, still searching for some reasoning that he couldn't fathom.

"Last time I checked, Cas, you weren't a girl. I could get behind you claiming me, if you let me claim you back."

"I… uh… I still don't understand what you want from me."

Dean smiled, and it wasn't one of the cocky smiles he threw around, but it was the same soft one he gave Castiel when he was drunk. The dark haired man's breath in his throat. "I don't want anything from you, except… I mean, we just rocked that presentation. Maybe a celebratory kiss is in order."

"So… a conquest? I'm a conquest?"

"No, Cas," Dean huffed. "Stop over thinking it. Do you want to kiss me or not? You told me to leave you alone before and I did. Just tell me what you want now and I'll do it."

Castiel said never again. After Anna, he said he would never let anyone use him for anything ever again. He was just about to tell Dean that he couldn't, but the taller boy licked his lips. Without his permission, his body surged forward to press into Dean, trying to follow the tongue back into the full lips. Dean chuckled, but his free hand found Castiel's hip, and he held him there, kissing inside the classroom.

* * *

Castiel had gotten the RA job, of course. So that fall he had his own bedroom. He wasn't really the roommate type anyway; he didn't get along with anyone well enough to live with them.

He had just barely finished unpacking all his stuff before he heard a knock on the door. The RA didn't jump off his bed and sprint to the door. He totally didn't.

When he opened the door, Dean pushed an orchid plant at him, then walked into the room with no preamble, whistling, "Wow, these rooms are actually a decent size without two beds."

Castiel put the orchid next to the window and said, "How did you find out where I was this time?"

"First of all, let me tell you that it's sketchy as fuck to not tell your boyfriend where you're living _all summer long_, especially if you're going to be his RA. I saw your name and room number on the board downstairs. Otherwise I was going to search every hall until I found it out," Dean grinned and flopped himself down on Castiel's bed. "Sweet room, Cas. I'm digging the picture by your bed, too."

Castiel blushed, turning the photo of them together at the state fair away from Dean. He still hadn't gotten used to the fact that Dean apparently hadn't wanted him as just a conquest. At least, if he was, Dean hadn't gotten bored with him yet. "I'm not your RA. I'm just an RA in your building."

"You gonna bust me for underage drinking?"

"If I catch you. Plus, if you're found drinking underage you can lose your athlete part of your scholar athlete scholarship," Castiel said, but he was smiling. He climbed onto his own bed, and fit himself easily around Dean. The taller man molded himself to Castiel, wrapping his arms and legs around him to keep him there. "We have a building-wide meeting at six."

"We've got a while then," Dean said. "Sam wants to Skype with you again about that show you're making him watch."

For moment, he thought about getting up and messaging the younger Winchester. Dean and Castiel only lived twenty minutes from each other, and Castiel had spent quite a bit of time at the Winchesters' Uncle Bobby's house over the summer. Sam was amazing, and Castiel had never made a friend more quickly.

But then he felt Dean's hand brush back his shirt and settle on the bare skin of his hip. He just held him there, breathing deep like a nap could be on the horizon, and Castiel felt himself grin against Dean's neck.

"Well, I've got my own room now, you know. Nobody's roommate will walk in on us here."

Dean laughed, untangling himself from Castiel just enough so the shorter boy could slide between Dean's thighs. He reached up, cupping the back of Castiel's neck and said, "I guess that's true, huh?" Castiel leaned down over Dean and kissed him.

And Castiel didn't know if Dean had seduced him for some reason, and he didn't know if they would get bored with each other and break up, but he did know that he had done a little bit of seducing back. And he was going to reap the benefits of their coupling for as long as he could.


End file.
